A rock and a hard place
by CatS81
Summary: Set during the sixth series episode, Double Bind, this is a description of Grace's feelings and actions after her argument with Boyd. Written in the first person.


"A rock and a hard place"

I walk slowly down the corridor, my hands shaking as they grip desperately to my bag. I feel numb, as if my heart has stopped and there's a cold chill in the depths of my stomach. I reach the stairs and turn my head to look where I've just walked. God, I half expected him to have followed me. But he hasn't. The realisation makes my chest ache and my throat constrict and I feel the tears well in my eyes as I stumble up the stairs, my vision blurred. I take a deep breath as I walk past the security guards on duty at the building's entrance. They dip their heads in a courteous nod and I force a smile before hurrying through the door. The air is bitter against my face as I step outside and I pull my jacket tighter about me, trying to defend against the elements. It doesn't work well and I'm shivering as I reach my car. Although I suspect the cold I can feel seeping into my bones has nothing to do with the November weather.

I sit for a full five minutes in my car, the engine running, the heater at maximum as I try to banish the chills that are running the length of my body. I sigh deeply, letting my head fall back against the head-rest as I close my eyes, his face invading my mind as soon as I do so. He looks impassive in my memory, as if my words have had no impact on him at all but his eyes…those mesmerising eyes that have given me butterflies every day for the past six years…those dark eyes are intensely sad. And I know I've hurt him…

_You're repressed, depressed and in denial! Everybody who comes into contact with you has to deal with that! That's why you're alone, Boyd! You are isolated and un-loved! _

…I still can't believe I said those things. Maybe he needed to hear them. Or maybe I've just permanently damaged a relationship I previously thought was unbreakable. Not that he's blameless. Over the past few months, he's hurt me deeply with his irrational behaviour, constantly questioning my professionalism and showing a total lack of respect for my experience and my insights...

_I'll tell you what's exhausting, I'll tell you what's completely debilitating is you - with all your training and your learning and your ideas and your books, you never come up with anything that's actually concrete or real! You're all up here, hocus-pocus! You're like a clairvoyant, you need a fricking crystal ball!_

…Transference. I know that's what it is. He's transferring all of his guilt and grief about Mel and his continuing pain over his son onto me and it's manifesting itself as impatience and anger. As a clinical psychologist, I _know_ all that. As a person, it doesn't mean I can always handle it and, as a woman, it doesn't stop it tearing pieces from my heart every time. It reached a climax today. Maybe I shouldn't have been so personal in my words but…I just couldn't take any more.

I put the car into gear and drive out of the car park and onto the busy main road. The traffic slows suddenly to a still and I tap my fingers against the steering wheel, staring unfocussed out of the windscreen. The realisation strikes me that I have no idea what my next move will be. Or what his will be, for that matter. I can't imagine that he'll apologise, that's never quite been his style but…I hope he comes to realise that I was trying to make a point. That he needs help. The impatient sound of a car horn behind me breaks me from my thoughts then and I realise the traffic has started moving again and that I haven't even noticed. God, I know I shouldn't be driving, not when I'm this distracted. I give the driver behind me an apologetic smile via my rear-view mirror and pull away.

Twenty minutes later, I arrive outside my home. I walk slowly up the steps to the front door and fumble with my keys, still feeling shaken. Once inside, I wander through to the kitchen and fill the kettle. It seems to take an eternity to boil but it finally does and I pour the steaming water onto the instant coffee granules, watching them dissolve and turn the water a deep, murky brown, its bitter aroma filling my nostrils. I add two generous teaspoons of sugar – not my usual preference but my body feels as though it's in shock and I need something to restore its balance. I move to the lounge and sink down onto the settee, the soft cushions soothing my tense muscles. I reach into my bag and check my mobile phone, disappointment flooding through me when I see that he hasn't called. I didn't really expect that he would have, I suppose. I take a deep breath, squeezing my eyes shut, trying to fight the overwhelming sadness I can feel rising into my chest. My analytical side takes over instinctively then - maybe as a defence mechanism, I'm not sure - and I start to question myself about _why_ I'm so upset – disagreements with colleagues have never affected me so in the past, even other disagreements with Boyd. Something that he said flashes suddenly through my mind…

_I think we're talking about you and me, isn't that right? You and me? _

…and I realise that, up until now, all we've ever argued about are cases we've been working on, differences of opinion over suspects or pieces of evidence. Now it's different. Now it's personal. Now it's killing me. Tears spill over my cheeks then and I sob loudly into the empty room. I don't want to lose him. But I won't be the one to make the first move either, that _has_ to come from him. Christ, it's like the age-old saying – caught between a rock and a hard place. Or between the devil and the deep blue sea. I reach for a tissue from the box on my coffee table and wipe my eyes, my chest still heaving even as my sobs subside.

As the day continues, I try to distract myself from my thoughts. I take a bath, lying for over an hour in the scented bubbles, as I force my exhausted body to relax. I even flick through the psychology magazine I subscribe to, a luxury I'm usually too busy for. And I feel a guilty thrill as I consume a large bar of my favourite bitter chocolate. As I slip from my towel and into my dressing gown, I hear my phone ringing from downstairs and I feel a marked increase in my heart rate as I rush to answer it. I'm not surprised when the name flashing insistently across the phone screen isn't his but I find myself smiling slightly as I press the answer key.

"Hi, Stella." I say.

"Hi, Grace." She replies. "Look, if you're not too busy, we really could do with your help here…"

I feel my smile increase as she explains the situation. Maybe he hasn't realised that he needs me yet. But it's a start.


End file.
